


heap of ashes that i am (you kindled me)

by LittleMissInsomniac



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Slow Build, Therapy, Touch Aversion, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissInsomniac/pseuds/LittleMissInsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Derek needs help getting over his touch aversion, Stiles is touch starved, and it's a match made in Craigslist heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. burning i

**Author's Note:**

> This one is just a short set up to the next few chapters, which should hopefully be out soon. It's going to be interesting trying to set a schedule for myself instead of just working on it all in one go to post at once, but I think it'll help with the whole rushed quality that I seem to struggle with. 
> 
> Anyway! No one makes a better cuddle therapy buddy than someone who really needs some cuddles, right? Right? Crazy fluffy adorable cuddles ahead. :J 
> 
> Unbeta'd as always! (Also: title's a reference to my favorite A Tale of Two Cities quote. (; )

_"cuddle buddy" needed for touch aversion therapy._

_nyc area. serious offers only. email dhale@gmail.com._

Stiles sat back and stared, studying the listing for far longer than was probably warranted. It was so short, simple, straight to the point... and sort of completely bizarre. He'd heard of these so called cuddle buddies, he had, but he didn't know that was, like, a _real_ thing. And he'd never quite heard of a request like this. It was just so... _weird_. Yeah, weird. Strange. Peculiar. 

Oddly intriguing. 

It was just- okay, he'd admit, it was sort of appealing, the thought. He'd never really ever considered it before, but the longer he sat there the more and more he could see why people did it. Hours of peace and quiet, just... _snuggling_ for pay. Touch. Constant touch and quiet breathing and _touch_ , and- and Stiles sort of craved that desperately, felt something wild and excited bubble up in his gut just at the thought of getting to curl up against someone else. 

He wanted to touch. He wanted to cuddle, and maybe trade some kisses (he really wanted to trade some kisses), but mostly he just- he just wanted to _feel_ something, wanted to feel the warmth of another body so close to his. He wasn't- there was nothing wrong with him, okay, he just- he was just starved of it. Touch starved. 

Stiles was touch starved. 

It was odd to think, odd to put words to, and he felt something like embarrassment curling low in his stomach. It sounded so _needy_ , touch starved, _touchstarved_ , touch me touch me _touch me_ , and he- He felt awkward. Uncomfortable in his own skin as he rolled the words around, shifted them about, tried to ignore that they were there, rattling around in his thoughts. 

They didn't go away, though. Once they were there they wouldn't leave, and he sat there working them over, trying to pick them apart. _Touch starved_. Starved of touch. Stiles was- yeah, he was lacking on the touch, sort of. Had been for a while. College was great, he loved it, but he missed the quiet intimacy of sitting draped across his friends as they studied together. He missed Scott and his puppy dog tackles, and missed his dad's great big hugs, and missed being able to just barrel into any one of his other friends. Missed the brushes and the high fives and the couch snuggles and the touch. 

Fuck, he missed it. There just wasn't enough of it, not here, not where his only close friends just weren't close enough for that steady thrum of intimacy, not where everyone seemed to be so cool about everything. Maybe it was just New York City, maybe it was just _cities_ , but- but all of a sudden he didn't have that touch any more and he missed it more than he realized and he was just starving. He was _starving_. Touch starved. 

He was getting used to the words. Tossed them around some more, forced himself to think about it, forced himself to analyze the desperate ache whenever someone wasn't close enough, when their hands didn't bump during a pass off of papers or pens or drinks or _something_ , anything. Made himself think of the needy urge to reach out and poke and prod and feel, about the wild desire to cuddle up to random strangers on benches and subways. He just wanted- he just wanted to someone to touch him, which sounded so weird and gross and wrong, but he didn't even- not even like that. 

He didn't just want sex. He barely even wanted sex that much, which wasn't an asexual thing, but just- he wasn't thinking about it when he was thinking about touching people (which he did a lot, he was realizing, he thought about it constantly - about tugging that girl's curl or nudging that guy with his shoe or reaching out and grabbing hold of something solid). He just wanted to... to touch people. Platonically touch. Cuddle. Snuggle. Feel. 

Stiles leaned back, settled in his desk chair, stared at the screen for a moment. He was surprisingly okay with this, honestly. Surprisingly okay with- with what, he wasn't exactly sure. Okay with being touch starved, needy? Okay with wanting what he couldn't get? Okay with... Well, he wasn't okay with it, obviously, because it sort of sucked, but- he was okay with accepting it, apparently. Okay with even thinking about it, with not avoiding the truth. Just... okay. Sort of bland. 

And then he was staring at the listing again and thinking, what kind of person puts out ads like this? The creepy or the shy or the lazy? All of the above or none of the above? He shouldn't- he really shouldn't. He wasn't going to. 

He stared some more, felt his pulse quickening, rapid with muddled excitement, and then- and then he was typing out an email before he really even registered it was happening. Typing, and sending, and oh shit, oh no, but apparently he was okay with that, too. He felt sort of detached and untethered and like he was spinning around a bit, which was odd, but okay. It was okay. 

He opened up a new tab and started searching for everything he could find on _touch starved_ , and then he started hunting for _touch aversion_. 


	2. burning ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to finally update this - I got swamped with stuff and lost inspiration for a while there, but I found myself coming back to this eventually.

Derek was perfectly comfortable with the fact that there was something wrong with him.

Laura had always teased him in that way - playfully yelled that he had issues, that he was just weird, that he was a little closeted nerd who couldn't hide his comic book love from her all knowing powers. He got that she was just joking, that the words carried no heat, and he'd always found her jokes to be entertaining. That wasn't the issue. The issue was that he knew, beneath the teasing exterior, there was a truth behind her words. Not because he was a bit of geek, but because there was really, truly, just something fundamentally _wrong_ with him.

There had to be something wrong with the guy who let his girlfriend burn his family alive. That sort of thing didn't just happen to normal people; _normal_ people noticed when there was something wrong, _normal_ people could catch this shit before everything was burning to the ground, and _normal_ people certainly didn't wind up dating psychopathic maniacs. Clearly, he was not normal people. 

He didn't care, though. It was fine. He had a fucked up sense of who to trust, so he just didn't trust people. Easy. Job done. Everyone he slept with seemed to be a murderer, so he just didn't sleep with people. He didn't need one night stands. He didn't need anything so long as Laura remained alive, because everything else just didn't matter that much. 

Laura, unfortunately, refused to agree with him. He loved his sister, he really did, but she just- she didn't know when to just leave things be. He saw all of the worried looks she gave him, heard the concern in her tone whenever her questions turned a little too invasive, _knew_ just how big of a deal she made his life out to be. "This isn't healthy, Der," she kept telling him over and over, " _You_ aren't healthy." It didn't matter what he said, what he thought, didn't matter that he was content with how things were. She just wouldn't _stop_. 

"I don't need a _therapist_ , Laura, okay?" Derek snapped, flinging the mail down on the kitchen counter and pointedly refusing to make eye contact with his sister. He knew he'd see that look on her face again, and he couldn't stand it. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly fucking fine, and _you're_ the only one who is actually upset about anything here."

"Okay, _fine_ , Derek! Don't see a therapist, then! It doesn't have to be a therapist! I just want- no, fuck that, I _need_ you to talk to somebody. You can't just keep living in this fucking depressing as shit shell your whole life!" Laura hissed back, her voice steadily rising, and Derek could feel a goddamn headache coming on already. "It's not healthy!"

"For fuck's sake, Laura, I'm fine. Okay? Are you hearing me? I'm fine! I have you and that's all I fucking need and you need to lay off already," Derek snarled, forcing his voice to return to a level and reasonable tone. He wasn't doing this. He wasn't going to let her drag him into this stupid argument all over again. It wouldn't change anything, and he hated fighting with her. 

"No, Derek, it is not okay!" she practically shouted, her mouth screwing up angrily, "There is something _wrong_ , and you need to get help! I'm not asking you any more, do you get that? I fucking telling you as your older sister, _you need to do something about this_. You're a goddamn hermit, practically, you don't trust anybody and you barely let me in any more and _I can't live with you like this!"_ She drank in a shuttering breath, ready to go again, but Derek was done. He was just so fucking done. 

" _OKAY!_ " he finally exploded angrily, slamming the last envelope on the counter and turning to glare at Laura furiously. "Okay, Laura, okay! You fucking win! I'm a goddamn fuck-up, okay, _I get it_." He threw his car keys at the hooks they usually hung from, and when he turned towards her he caught the wide-eyed stare she had locked on him. It was enough to have the fight going out of him, and with a shuddering sigh Derek scrubbed a hand through his hair roughly. 

"Der-" Laura started to say softly, but Derek shook his head. 

"Fine. Fine, okay, Laura, I'll look into something," he muttered, feeling exhausted all of a sudden, and shook his head again. He couldn't bring himself to look at her again, so he merely shouldered his bag and turned away, desperate to escape to his room.

"You're not a fuck-up, Derek," he heard Laura call after him as he headed up the spiral staircase, and with a pang he realized that he just couldn't believe her.

❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋

On some level, Derek understood where Laura was coming from. She was basically the only person left in his life, and he had made no effort to involve any one else; he rejected coworkers, friends, anyone who so much as looked at him for too long. It was weird. He understood that, and he understood that in reality, there was something wrong with that - and he understood that he couldn't just keep going on this way without taking Laura down with him.

He loved his sister more than anything, and he couldn't lose their relationship to his own stubbornness. He couldn't lose Laura too. They'd been too tense lately and he _knew_ it was his fault, and he had to do something. He had to. For Laura he would do anything, _anything_. 

Maybe not therapy, but there had to be other ways. 

The only issue is that he didn't know where to start. Derek just had too many issues to sort through, too many too even know what they all were himself. He didn't have anyone he could really talk to about this except for Laura, which meant that after spending the day thinking about it he was settling down on the couch across from her and letting out a slow breath. "I need help with this, Laura. I need help with knowing where to even begin."

He saw it in her eyes the moment that she understood what he was asking, and he even found himself smiling slightly in response to the huge grin that blossomed on her face. That bright look more than anything was what told him he was doing the right thing. "Der, really?" she breathed, before smiling again, "Yeah, okay. Let's- let's talk about this."

Derek nodded his head again and settled back against the couch, letting out another breath. It was almost nerve wracking, realizing that he honestly wasn't sure how this was going to go, but he couldn't back down now. He had to do this. "Yeah. Talk. Sounds healthy." He angled a faint smile at her. "I don't want to go to therapy. The thought of sitting there just... being analyzed and forced to talk about everything all at once makes my skin crawl. I can't do that. But I wanted to do _something_. Something to make you feel better about this, Laura. Tell me what else you want from me."

"This should be for you, too, Der," Laura murmured, but she didn't press on that front. The sad smile Derek gave her was enough to confirm that they both knew he would never do this for himself. "I think... I think you still need to talk to someone. It can be me, it can be a friend, just... You can't do this on your own any more, Derek. You have to let people in." She must have seen the look on his face (the thought of trusting anyone else was a horrifying one), before she was quick to add, "I think that's where you have to start. You have to start with people. You can't just rely on me alone... If something were to happen to me-"

"Don't say that," Derek broke in viciously, a surge of panic hitting him just from that thought alone, and he had to close his eyes to center himself once more, to remind himself that Laura was right here. "Nothing's going to happen to you, Laura. I don't have to worry about losing you." 

When he opened his eyes once more, Laura was smiling at him apologetically, green eyes a bit watery. "You're right, Der. I'm not going any where. But that doesn't mean you can just... put everything on just me. It's okay to let others in. It's okay to have friends again. Real friends won't leave you, either." 

She leaned forward to rest her hand on his knee, and Derek sighed, finding himself relaxing at the slight touch. He just- He heard what she was saying, saw the appeal of having friends again, but something in him just couldn't cope with the idea. It was too much, too soon, even if his stupid head immediately snarked back,  _It's been 8 years, though._ "Maybe. I don't know, Laura. I just..." He trailed off and looked up at her, unsure of how to express what he was thinking, to explain the urge to recoil from the very prospect of befriending others. 

Laura was looking down at her own hand, nodding slowly, and after a moment she said softly, "I wish you could do that with others, you know?"

  
"What?" Derek questioned, glancing down at her hand before he angled a confused glance up at his sister. He tried to ignore the part of him that was secretly pleased that she seemed to be distracted from her own suggestion, because he really didn't want to talk about _friends_ with her.

"This," she murmured, and gave his knee a light squeeze before looking up at him again with a soft look in her eyes. "You're always so closed off with people, like this great big wall that should even be looked at. I've seen you look at people as if shaking their hand makes you physically ill before, Der, and it's just... Look, I'm not saying you have to be friends with them, but maybe you could just be... nicer to people. Try to look less like you hate the world, you know?" 

Derek stared down at her hand for a long moment, trying to work past the lump that formed in his throat. Because yeah, he was aware that he tended to come off like an asshole, and he really didn't hate people, he just... didn't want them to touch him. "I don't want anyone touching me but you," he finally said a moment later, struggling to put those thoughts into words, and he lifted his head to meet Laura's gaze in a way that he refused to call defiant. 

She wasn't mad, though. If anything, her expression seemed to soften even more after she searched his eyes, and she let out a quiet sigh, "Oh, Der. Your trust issues have trust issues, don't they?" She squeezed his knee again before she leaned forward and hugged him, practically crawling into his lap. Derek shuffled back on the couch, letting her tuck into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. He forced out a quiet laugh, unable to deny her statement, and she squeezed him tighter. "Maybe you could start there," she said quietly into his shoulder. 

"Where? With... touch?" he asked lightly after a long moment, feeling his stomach clench slightly at the thought. His grip must have tightened slightly, before Laura pressed in closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck in a form of silent comfort and reassurance. 

"Yeah," she mumbled, turning her head into him a bit, "I can't expect you to just magically start to trust people with your secrets again. But maybe you could just... get used to letting them be near you. You don't have to talk to anyone, not really. You could just stop avoiding contact like the plague." She forced out a soft laugh at her own joke, trying to lighten the heavy mood, and Derek found himself smiling slightly despite the twisting knots in his stomach. "I mean... it couldn't really hurt you, could it? I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, Der. I just want you to be happy."

He swallowed as she hugged him tighter, and forced himself to think about that before he rejected it. He didn't want to. He didn't want to put himself out there when he liked to believe he was fine, perfectly content, as is. But he knew he had to at least make an effort for Laura, and she was right - he didn't have to tell anyone anything. He could just shake their hands for once when they introduced themselves, maybe. "I... Yeah. Maybe. I think I could do that, Laura." He nodded slightly as if that would help convince himself. 

"Okay," she breathed against his collarbone, and then she was nodding, too. "Okay. I'm glad, Derek. I'm really, really glad. I... Thank you. For trying, at least." Her grip was bone-crushing at this point, but he found himself oddly comforted by the tightness, the proximity, "We'll be okay. I know we will be. We'll figure this out and we'll be happy and we'll be okay."

"Yeah," Derek agreed, and told himself that his voice didn't sound hollow. 

They'd be okay. Laura would be happy, at least, and they'd be okay. 

❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋

Derek made the ad on Craigslist three nights later. 

That was three days of thinking about it, of researching what he was supposed to do in his situation, of talking to Laura and making an effort not to jerk his hand away when someone brushed fingers with him while passing a coffee or pen. Three days of debating and questioning his actions and forcing himself into a hyper-awareness that brought all of his flaws into painful focus. He was noticing it now when he rejected handshakes, when he leaned subtly away from people standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him, when he strategically avoided touching the person sitting beside him. He noticed and he fretted and somehow, he had agreed when Laura had tentatively suggested another idea. 

She must have been researching, or talking to someone. It was too unusual a suggestion, and he just... He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Wasn't sure how he felt about letting someone up into his space for _cuddle therapy_. That sounded like trusting someone, like letting one specific person get close to him again and again, and it sounded- it sounded stressful. Made his stomach knot up. 

But there was a hopefully look in Laura's eyes and he couldn't deny her of this. He had to try. 

So he sat there and typed up the stupid ad before he could over think it, before he could change his mind, and then it was posted and out there and too late to take back. Maybe no one would see it, any way. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with this after all. 

He shut down his laptop and told himself against that it would be fine, that he was fine, that Laura would be happy. 


	3. burning iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *screams because finals*  
> come talk to me on tumblr (stilinskishowl) about sterek bc i have no friends on that account haha

There is nothing Stiles does better than ignore things.

If there was such thing as a professional avoider, he would have that shit in the bag, okay. He knows how to keep away from the thoughts that are bothering him, how to pretend something doesn't exist for as long as possible until he can't any longer. He's great at it. Fantastic, even. 

But for some reason, he just cannot let his thoughts rest on this whole... this touch thing. The touch-starved thing. His thoughts have been buzzing with it since he first saw that ad, and now it's like he can't get away from it. His thoughts refuse to quiet, and his issues refuse to be ignored. 

It's rather unsettling, honestly.

Even now, as he sits slouched in his group with his lab partners, he can't stop thinking about it. About how he's leaning sideways into Liam's shoulder, sapping up the warmth of the contact, even as his foot rests idly against the curve of Malia's leg as she sits on the floor. How when their hands bump to pass papers, he automatically chases the movement, trying to maintain contact for as long as possible. How when Malia trips over him and laughs as she apologizes, he doesn't mind, because she pats at his shoulder for balance as she navigates her way past him. 

He's a bit of a freak, it turns out. And now he can't stop noticing it, can't stop analyzing, wondering if any of his classmates from his psychology courses have picked up on it. They're supposed to be focused on learning how to psychoanalyze criminals, not their peers, but even Stiles has given into the urge to ponder about his classmates before. What if one of them has analyzed _him_ before, and discovered how needy and desperate he is?

The thought makes him shudder, and Liam stops to ask in he's cold. Stiles lies through his teeth with a smile, and resolves firmly that he's going to get his head in the game, stop worrying about it, and go back to ignoring his problems. He doesn't have time for this shit, alright?

"Okay, so, I was thinking, we should definitely use a dish for this one," Liam started up again, oblivious to the way Stiles was leaning heavily on his shoulder to see the drawings and notes he was pointing at. Malia sat forward when it became clear that they were getting back to business, and Stiles had to fight back a sigh of content as she settled her back against his legs. He was fine, really. He wasn't thinking about it. 

He spent the entirety of the rest of their study session decidedly _not_ thinking about it, and by the end, he was feeling a little more settled. It was easier, when he had other people around, people to lean on and into, but he wasn't supposed to be thinking about that, was he?

❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋

The only problem was that he really _couldn't_ stop thinking about it. Twenty minutes after he had packed up his bags and left the library with a smile and a wave, he was standing on the subway _thinking_ about it again. Stiles was starting to think he was obsessed. Obsessed with thinking, and obsessed with touching, and Jesus Christ, he really hoped he heard back from this guy _soon_ , because he was going downright crazy. 

It'd only been a couple of hours. A little more than 12. Not even a full day yet, hardly even half of one, considering that those 12 hours included hours in which normal people would be sleeping - case in point, it hadn't been very long _at all_ , and Stiles was already losing it. Maybe he should just take back his offer, because clearly all of this... this Craigslist business was going to ruin him. 

Maybe he was already ruined, though. Oh god, what if the guy said _no_? What if they met and dhale decided, yeah, nope, not dealing with _this_ shit? What was Stiles supposed to do if the guy rejected him after already getting his thoughts all wound up over this touch starved and touch averse shit? 

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He was screwed. He was definitely screwed. There was no way anyone who wanted to get over touch aversion was going to want to deal with a hyperactive spazz who couldn't keep his damn body to himself. Jesus, what was he _thinking_? This guy was clearly looking for real help, and Stiles had- Stiles had been trying to help, okay, he had been, but. But maybe he couldn't. He was horrible for the job, he had to be. 

He had to email the guy again, take it back, apologize, explain it wouldn't work. Yeah, that was the best thing. No need to wait to disappoint the guy, and to be rejected in person. Stiles was better than that. All he had to do was send one little email and all of his problems would go away. 

Stiles had no qualms about lying to himself, and he steadfastly ignored the ways his palms had started to sweat as he stood alone of the subway, ignored his pounding heart. Ignored the way he felt himself swaying just slightly towards the man who stepped into the car beside him three minutes later. He had to pop his earbuds in just to drown out his thoughts, but it worked just fine, thanks, and fifteen minutes later his head was pleasantly buzzing with nothing but lyrics as he headed into the coffee shop. 

"Hey, Brett," he called, nodding to the guy behind the counter as he pulled his earbuds free. His head felt light and free, and he threw his stuff in the back hastily, eager to drop into his work mindlessly before anything else could take up residence in his head. 

"Stiles. hi," Brett greeted as Stiles re-emerged from the back with an apron on, smiling warmly, "You're here early. Did your lab project go well?"

"Yeah, it was great," Stiles responded with ease, smiling back as he reached over to snag his name tag off the pegs they used. It was personalized, decorated differently than Brett's, and it was one of the small things that Stiles loved about working in a family owned coffee pub as opposed to a commercial one. It was more personable, more homely. He dug that. "I think we're finally going to be finished with this shit soon, and then Liam will be free again," he added with a wink. 

Brett blushed at that, and Stiles grinned, knowing he'd won this round. It was no secret that Brett and Liam has some weird flirting thing going on since Liam came to meet Stiles at work one time, and Stiles and Malia definitely had a bet going on. The three -- four, counting Brett -- of them didn't really hang out much outside of school and projects, but they were good company, really. Not quite the 'pack' back home, but still. 

"Whatever," Brett muttered, throwing a coffee lid at him, and Stiles started laughing as he swiped it aside and started to work on rearranging some of the syrup pumps. "I mean, it's not like he was talking about hanging out with me or anything, anyway." There a pause. "Was he?"

His tone was so hopeful, so faux casual, that Stiles went as far as biting back another laugh. "Don't worry, buddy," he soothed with a quirk of a smirk, which earned another lid throw from Brett, "He spent a solid two minutes waxing poetic about your eyes today."

"You're a liar," Brett accused, eyes narrowed, and Stiles started laughing again. 

"Yeah, okay, I am," Stiles admitted, grinning when yet another black projectile flew at him, "But seriously, he _did_ mention looking forward to having more time to hang out with you after this project is finished." He smiled softly at the grin that lit up Brett's face, and shook his head affectionately as he turned back to the pumps.

A comfortable atmosphere settled around them as they worked quietly, chatting occasionally, and the steady hum of the afternoon wave was enough to have Stiles' thoughts gloriously preoccupied. It was so easy to forget about himself when he was talking with customers, submerging himself in their lives as opposed to his own, charming them endearingly as he prepared their coffee. It was nice and relaxing and he could almost ignore the way his touches always lingered as he passed over coffee cups. 

Almost. 

❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋

"I'm coming, Laura, give me one second," Derek called down the hallway as he headed towards the kitchen, toothbrush still sticking out of the corner of his mouth. His words were a bit warbled, but the sound of his footsteps must have been enough to placate Laura, because she had stopped shouting. "What's up?" he questioned as he rounded the corner, stopping when he saw his sister bent over his laptop. 

"Der, look, someone sent you an email about Craigslist," she called, and the smile she aimed towards him was so bright and excited that Derek couldn't even find it in himself to be mad that she'd looked at his laptop. His sister was just so happy, damnit, and he couldn't take that away from her. 

"Yeah?" he questioned, forcing his voice to remain even, for his heart not to start thundering in his chest. This is stupid, Derek told himself; it was just an email, it wasn't anything definite, no reason to feel so nervous. _Except that this makes it final_ , his traitorous brain provided, but he clamped down on that thought quickly. He popped the toothbrush out of his mouth to speak. "What's it say?" 

Laura smiled at him, quick and pleased, before turning to look down at the laptop once more. "Some guy named Stiles." She stopped, squinting slightly, and Derek felt dubious himself. "He goes to Columbia," she added, looking a mix of surprised and impressed. 

"Columbia?" Derek repeated, brow furrowed as he came around to look over her shoulder at the email, and sure enough, that little bit of information was buried in the surprisingly long and informative message. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it hadn't been something so detailed or packed with what looked like a miniature biography on this... Stiles. 

"Damn, Der, this kid sounds smart," Laura murmured, her eyes scanning down further through the email, and Derek wanted to protest when she scrolled down a bit because he hadn't even read the top yet. He didn't, though, merely continued to watch over her shoulder as she read and commented absently, "He's only twenty, it looks like he's studying... investigative psychology? Detective work? Something like that. I get the feeling he probably talks a lot."

She sounded amused, and Derek just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with this information. This guy was supposed to be his- his _cuddle buddy_. Derek still wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that, and he couldn't tell what he thought about some Columbia-attending, 20 year old  _Stiles_ invading his space constantly. It sort of just felt like empty words without meaning. 

"Do you think you'll meet him?" Laura asked after a moment, looking up, and now she looked vaguely hopeful as she bit her lip slightly. Derek realized with a jolt that he was still scowling at the screen in vague confusion and thought, and he hastened to smooth his expression out slightly, gut twisting at how hard his sister was trying to hide her excitement. "I mean, you could always wait for replies, but... It couldn't hurt, could it? Meeting him? Just to see if you think you can do this, is all."

"I..." he started, and then stopped, forcing himself to take a moment and think about this. This guy seemed friendly enough, like a decent person, and Laura seemed to be growing hopeful just from reading one email. He could do this. For Laura, he could definitely do this, and if the... If Stiles wasn't a douche, then good, great, Derek would be fine. He swallowed, and made himself smile slightly as he said, "Yeah, Laura, I'll meet with him. See what he has to say about all this in person."

Laura clapped her hands together with a huge grin, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her temple as she brushed past him towards the kitchen. "That's great, Derek, that's-- this is great," she gushed over her shoulder before calling, "Do you want eggs or pancakes?"

"Eggs," he called back distractedly, still looking down at the email opened on his laptop before he forced himself to turn away. Later. He could read through it and respond after he'd finished getting ready. He could do it while they ate, because Laura had always been better at these things, and she would want to help him plan a response, any way. 

He popped the toothbrush back in his mouth and ignored the twisting in his gut as he headed back down the hall. He wasn't going to let this get to him, he wasn't, because he had Laura to think about here. And this Stiles guy, who had no doubt not been expecting someone like _Derek_ when he sent that email, and, fuck, now he feels guilty for what this guy has gotten himself into. This guy who Derek doesn't even know. 

Fuck.

He knew this was a bad idea, damnit. 

Derek wasn't feeling any better about the situation by the time he was padding out into the kitchen once more, but he was better prepared to force a smile into place when Laura turned to beam at him. She already had breakfast ready and set out on the table, and he thanked her with a soft kiss to her cheek before sitting down. He wanted to put this off for as long as possible, but knew there was no point, so instead he steeled himself and drew the laptop closer. 

He could see Laura watching him out of the corner of his eye, so he smiled at her and tried to feel optimistic as he started to read from the beginning. And while he wasn't at all settled, didn't feel comfortable just yet, he was... intrigued. This guy really was a genius, and he had an uncannily way of rambling even in an email that was almost _endearing_ in a strange way. Derek wasn't sure how that sat with him. By the end he was feeling strange and vaguely curious but also wary, and it took him a minute before he finally admitted, "Well, he's definitely... something."

Laura smiled, nodding her head, and scooted closer. "What are you going to say to him?"

Derek paused for a moment, unsure of what he _should_ say. He didn't think he could talk so casually in an email (or even in person) like this guy did, and besides, there was nothing about his past that he really felt like sharing. "I think... I'll just meet with him. Do most of the talking then," he said eventually, glancing up at Laura once more only to find her smiling again. 

"That sounds good to me, Der," she said, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair slowly before she was standing up and taking her own plate to the sink. Derek was still sitting there trying to figure out how he was going to phrase this when she came back, bade him farewell and murmured, "you'll do fine," before leaving for work. 

Derek breathed out a slow sigh, glanced up at the clock, and after taking some time to eat his eggs slowly, he finally typed a response. He barely let himself re-read it before sending it, reluctant and certain that he might try to call it off if he took too long. He shut his laptop before he could start to really think about what he'd just done, and busied himself with the mundane tasks of getting ready for class to distract himself. 

It'd be fine, he reminded himself as he headed out the door, still feeling uneasy. It'd be fine. 

(He couldn't stop thinking of Stiles and what he must be doing at Columbia all day, couldn't stop thinking about how he was supposed to meet with this guy, about how he had to _cuddle_ with him, maybe. Couldn't stop thinking about all the touches he had avoided that day, about how he couldn't do this, how he was going to let Laura down, and he knew he was in a terrible mood all day, he knew it, but he just couldn't shake himself out of it.)

❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋ ❋

By the time Stiles got home that night, he had almost forgotten entirely about the stress of the morning, about the email that he had sent. It was like his self-preservation and avoidance skills have finally kicked into gear again, and he was able to think clearly, to keep all of those fretful thoughts tucked away into the back of his head. It was nice, peaceful, and he felt like he could breathe. 

That lasted up until he opened his laptop to find that he had left his email open that morning, and up until he sees the response waiting for him in his inbox. He could actually feel his stomach drop at the sight, and with a rush Stiles remembered his decision to call all of this off. 

His nerves from earlier came back full force, making his stomach seize up, and rather than click open the email, he pulled up Skype instead. He didn't think before he hit call, merely gnawed at his nails as he waited for the connection to go through.

"Chewing your nails is unbecoming and bad for your nails," Lydia said primly in greeting as she appeared on the screen, looking at gorgeous and perfect as always, and Stiles felt something in his loosen just the slightest bit. He could always count on Lydia to be her usual self, and for her to be there when he was in desperate need of her. 

"Lydia," he greeted in a relieved sigh, dropping his hand, and admitted meekly, "I need your advice with something. It's kind of urgent, because I've got to reply to this guy before I freak myself out." 

Her gaze sharpened slightly with interest and concern, and Stiles bit his lip under her scrutiny as she asked, "What? What guy, Stiles? What have you gotten yourself into now?" There was something mildly reprimanding yet concerned and fond about her tone, and the combination was so familiar that Stiles ached a little bit, wishing he could reach out and hug her. 

"Well..." he started, only to stop and consider for a moment. Eventually he just sighed and started from the start, explaining the ad, the research, his recent discovery about himself, his worries, the email that was now waiting for him. Lydia remained silent through it all, making noises to confirm she was following along, and let him talk until he had tired himself out. "I just... I don't know what to do, Lydia. I thought maybe that this would be good, but now I don't think it's such a good idea, and I don't want to read that email."

The strawberry blonde was silent for a few moments, twirling her hair slowly around her finger as she watched him, before start said simply, "I think you should do it. You need this therapy just as much as he does, Stiles, from the sound of it." Her gaze went a bit shrewd as she eyed him through the screen. "Of course, you're going to have to explain your own predicament to him before he agree to anything. You can't just go into this keeping secrets, especially when you're dealing with such a delicate matter."

Stiles paused, chewing slowly at his lower lip, and rolled her words over in his head. He knew she was right, of course, but it was hard to focus on that when all he could think about was how this could go wrong. "And you don't think my... starvation is going to be too much for him? What if he just says no after I tell him at that part?"

Lydia arched a finely shaped brow at him, and countered with a blunt, "So?"

"So..." He stopped, uncertain of what he was going to say, because- well, because so _what_? Stiles wasn't sure what he would do if dhale changed his mind. He still felt like being sick at the thought of being left hanging after having this whole reveal dredged up, but other than that... Other than that, he didn't have much to lose in all this. But that was sort of her point, wasn't it?

"Exactly," Lydia concluded smugly, apparently having seen that realization on his face. She sat back in her chair, looking satisfied, and said primly, "Read the email, Stiles. Meet the guy for coffee, hear what he has to say, tell him about your condition, and see where it goes. If you decide to try out this therapy, then great. If not, move on. Maybe try to find a cuddle buddy yourself if you need one. But don't give up before you even try just because you're _scared_. You're better than that."

Stiles had been wound up tight all day, but he found himself relaxing more and more, nodding his head slowly. She was right, of course. She always was, and this was why he'd called her first, he realized: not so that he could convince himself he was right to back out, but because he had known she'd talk him into doing the opposite. "Thanks, Lydia. You're the best."

"Anytime, and you fucking know it," she quipped back, smiling briefly at him, before she leaned a little closer, "Now go get busy. I've got things to do, but I'll call you next week to check in. Night, Stiles."

"Night, Lyds," he murmured quietly, offering a smile as she signed out, and he felt significantly lighter as he switched back to his email's tab. He clicked on the unopened message without hesitation, and read through the response quickly, before his nerves could come back. Lydia probably wouldn't have time to deal with him having to call her _again_ just to hear the same message.

It was short and blunt and straight to the point, much like that initial Craigslist ad, and Stiles was starting to think that dhale wasn't really much of a conversationalist. Which, considering this was someone who didn't like to be touched, it made sense that he didn't really like to talk much, either. Christ, they couldn't be more different, could they? 

Stiles bit down on his lip, thinking through his schedule for next week in his head, mentally comparing it to the one dhale had provided him with. After a moment he sat forward, typed out a quick (and significantly shorter) reply setting up a meeting after one of his shifts next Friday. He hoped this guy had no opposition to coffee, because Stiles wouldn't have much wiggle room on the days dhale was available, and it'd be so much easier if Stiles could just see him at work. 

He checked over the email one more time, fought down the last remainders of his anxiety, and sent it with Lydia's words still filtering through his thoughts. He was no coward; he could do this, damnit. 

(If he spent ten minutes freaking out into his pillow almost immediately afterwards, then no one had to know but him.)


End file.
